


Cut and Run

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, LeCourt Arc, M/M, The Bad End Meme, everything hurts and nothing is beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: “Kid,” Kurogane says, slow, and he knows it isn’t right - because the thing that wears Syaoran like a puppet of meat and bone is nokid, not at all.
Relationships: Kurogane & Syaoran
Kudos: 9





	Cut and Run

**Author's Note:**

> How things might have ended in LeCourt.

“Kid,” Kurogane says, slow, and he knows it isn’t right - because the thing that wears Syaoran like a puppet of meat and bone is no _kid_ , not at all.

He’s seen death before, killed before, felt blood on his hands and his blade and his face; licked it off his lips and laughed. (He’s screamed, too, felt his throat tear open in a wrenching shriek when the body in his arms _~~mother mother I can’t mother please~~_ went as limp as any broken doll.) But in all the years Kurogane has lived, in all the ways he has seen death - at the hands of men and demons and beasts; by sword or poison or crushing despair - he’s never seen it in eyes so _empty_ as these.

“Kid,” he says again, lifting a hand - and the thing behind those staring eyes moves to track the motion. It rises from a crouch, thin body sluggish, feather in one hand; glass cracks underfoot, the lid of the memory book splintering under the weight of heavy boots as he steps right onto its broken shards. Dead eyes are still watching him. Another step, quicker this time, and Kurogane shifts just a little, stance sliding a little wider, a little steadier; preparing for a fight coming. He does not lower his hand.

When the movement comes, it’s blisteringly fast - but he does not need to see it to catch it, to knot his fingers around the thin bone of an ankle beneath leather boots and force it away. “Don’t do this,” says Kurogane, dropping his voice; he snatches up the next kick before it can land and pushes the kid back hard enough to make him stagger backwards. “Whoever you are, let the kid go. You can’t beat me in a fair fight.”

It’s not a lie. The kid’s good, and he could be great - given time and practice and the chance to grow from boy to man - and whatever is inside him is using that skill for a purpose of its own. But Kurogane was born and bred to the blade; anything that fights him will die, sooner or later. Whatever thing it is that used to be Syaoran isn’t interested in fighting fair, and he can see that in the flatness of that gaze - if this thing strikes again, it will be with killing intent, and he cannot let that happen.

Not here, not anywhere the princess might see.

And because the gods are fucking cruel, _that’s_ when the world around them warps: sand and darkness and the structure of another’s stolen memories fading just like the downed guard-beasts did, into the airy labyrinth of library stacks with a wailing alarm ringing in the distance-

-and there is the mage, the bun and the princess, right on cue. _Fuck_.

“Syaoran-kun!” she cries, but the mage isn’t stupid; he doesn’t need to look more than once to see something is wrong here, one skinny arm pushing her back and behind him, the other snatching the bouncing pork bun from the air mid-leap.

“Don’t get close,” warns Kurogane, not moving from where he stands between used-to-be-Syaoran and the three lives behind him. “There’s something not right with the kid—”

The kid jerks like a puppet, fist swinging; the princess’ feather is a blur of rippling light that dazzles the eye as he leaps, aiming square at Kurogane’s face with the fist that holds it - but Kurogane is faster than that and his hand catches that same small fist ungently, grinding bones in his grip. He’s angry now, just a little; building to a fine, fierce rage that bubbles in his gut. _You were better than this, brat._ It’s the work of seconds to yank the brat from his feet, yank that dead-eyed face up to a level gaze and hold him there, legs dangling. _Makes no sense, Syaoran knows his punches are weak_ -

_“Kurogane-san!”_

_“Sakura-chan, you must stay back- this isn’t safe!”_

“You heard the mage, princess,” Kurogane growls. The thing that holds Syaoran is limp in his grip, head bowed and free arm swaying, fist clenched. Kurogane looks away. “Stay the hell away from him, he’s not saf- _kkhhcckk—!!_ ”

The broken edge of a glass shard slides across his throat like a scream of silk, a burning-cool slice that rips into the soft flesh beneath his chin with no resistance at all, completely unexpected and surprisingly painless. Blood spurts from the gaping slash to flow down his neck like pumping oil: thick and viscous, hot and wet as it splatters in wide arcs. Kurogane staggers, the shock of it unthinkable, fingers spasming as he drops the boy and grabs for the bloody mouth that yawns open in his flesh - but the red stuff squirting between his fingers does not stop, will not stop. There is no pressure enough to stem this flow.

“ _Kurogane!!_ ”

The dead thing with Syaoran’s face watches him as he falls to his knees, bloody hand tight around a splinter of glass, just small enough to hide in a closed fist. In its other hand, the feather glitters, brilliant even beneath the spray of dark, wet red that stains it and the boy that holds it both. The princess is screaming. _Not here_ , says a voice between Kurogane's ears, each word falling like a hammer blow: _not now, not like this._ The earth shakes beneath his ear - face pressed heavy to the ground, gravel slick beneath the blood that drains through his shaking fingers, pooling wet and warm - and his breath stutters, bubbling where it splutters through the gaps in his hold.

Before his eyes close, Kurogane sees Fai’s hand reaching for his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Kurogane takes his turn in the Bad End meme. I always imagined that if Syaoran had broken his seal earlier and becoming the ruthless, feather-hunting machine FWR designed him to be, there would have been violence. And it would not have ended happily for anyone.


End file.
